In CoWorkers We Trust
by The General G of K
Summary: Michael declares that Corporate has enforced seminars involving exercises to encourage trust in the workplace. As usual, the Dunder Mifflin employees are just ecstatic.


**Title:** In Co-Workers We Trust

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Office US, nor do I completely obsess over the show (. . . much)

**Rating:** Of the PG-13 to PG rating

**Description:** Michael declares that Corporate has enforced seminars involving exercises to encourage trust in the workplace. As usual, the Dunder Mifflin employees are just ecstatic.

**TG/N:** This story doesn't really have a specific placing in the series. The only thing I have included is that Pam doesn't know Jim likes her. I've also included some other tiny details from random episodes as well that I liked. Also, if there seem to be too many talking heads, I probably got trigger happy since those are my favorite parts in the show.

* * *

Pam had always been picked last in her life. There had been that time back in seventh grade, before the Valentine's dance, when, after Billy Bluth had asked every girl in the seventh grade to be his date, and they had declined, he had finally resorted to asking Pam. 

It hadn't worked out in the end: he ditched her so he could go make-out with Cindy Martin.

Then, there was that time in fourth grade science class when all her "friends" had ditched her, leaving her the only student partner-less and just a tad disheartened. With only two weeks to map out different types of compounds by herself, this began the trend of being last.

Of course, there had been the Roy factor. Back in high school, he had dated the entire cheerleading squad before he inadvertently came across Pam, and that was only after he broke things off with Stella Burnshaw, varsity cheering captain.

The most recent of offenses was on the night Roy proposed. It was only after the Steelers game and the hot wings with Darryl, that he proposed: On two feet, in his work shirt, on the way to work the next day.

Pam had never been picked on first because she was invisible: neither too weird, nor too popular, and she was always picked last when it came to picking teams in gym class. That's why when Michael had declared they were to gather in the conference room for a seminar on trust and other trust exercises; it had come as a surprise to her that Jim had been the first to ask her to be his partner.

"So is that a 'yes' or a 'no', Beesly?" Jim asked, plunging his hand in the complimentary candy dish, retrieving a jelly bean; green, his favorite. "If the latter, I might just shed a tear. You know about my low self-esteem issues."

Pam giggled, smiling brightly. "It's a 'yes'," she answered him. "You just caught me off my guard, is all."

Jim frowned playfully, "But I've always been this giraffishly tall."

"No, silly," she reiterated, "it's just that after years of being picked last in gym class, it came as a surprise to me, you know?"

Before he could stop himself, Jim blurted, "Well, you're always first on my list, Pam."

Instead of producing an awkward silence like it would with any other girl, Pam didn't even notice Jim cringe. She smiled and continued with a, "Thanks, Jim," because, you see, along with being picked last all the time had come a dose of low self-esteem. Even if Jim had been flirting with her, which she brushed aside with a laugh, he wasn't, there was something in her mind that forced the possibility that abnormally cute, geek chic Jim had a thing for her into the fantasy realm only.

It was at about that moment anyway that Michael Gary Scott emerged from his office and proclaimed enthusiastically, "Fellow employees, report to the conference room, stat." After a few moments of silence that Michael mistook for misunderstanding, he explained, "That's doctor speak for right away. God, don't you people know anything?"

Toby, who had peeked his head out of the door separating the break room from the main office asked, "Why . . . do we have to come in there?"

Michael screwed up his face, jutted his lower jaw out, and said in a throaty, horrible Marlon Brando impersonation, "Because I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse, plus—," his voice returned to normal here, "—you're with Human Resources. They're all over this trust thing, so just do it."

Without further questioning, he entered the conference room with his unwilling co-workers following close behind.

* * *

"Is trust important? Yes. True story actually," Michael began in answer to the cameraman's question, "when I was eleven, my mother took a friend and me to Dorney Park for the day. We went into the haunted house—there used to be one—and I dared my friend to touch one of the ghouls in there. I told him to trust me when I said nothing bad would happen, but he didn't do it." He shook his head, "Didn't work out in the end. One of the other kids in the house went up to touch the ghoul, and the floor boards fell out from under him due to dry rot. He got a nasty concussion. So you see, if my friend would have trusted me, he . . . okay, uh, could I use another example?"

* * *

The group took their usual seats in the conference room. Jim in his usual seat in the back beside Kevin and Creed, Dwight in his seat up front next to Kelly, and Pam in the middle with Oscar and Stanley. Michael entered after everyone had filed in, and he began setting up an easel with a huge notepad. Stanley shook his head while Pam patted his shoulder encouragingly. They all knew what was bound to follow. 

"Trust," Michael began, spelling the word out largely on the notepad. "What is trust? How does trust affect production and morale in the workplace?"

* * *

"Is trust important in the workplace?" Jim repeated the cameraman's question in thought. "I guess, I mean, it's important in relationships when, for instance, it comes to supporting each other and trusting that this'll really be an essential career move for her—but, uh . . . you know what _is_ important for production and morale in the workplace? Not blaspheming one of the greatest pieces of film in the history of cinema. Besides, what guy's favorite movie isn't _The Godfather_?"

* * *

"Favorite movie?" Dwight scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Geez, come to me with a harder one next time, will you? Alright . . ." he paused, ". . . my favorite movie would have to be—no, not _Star Wars_—it would have to be _The Quiet Man_ with John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara. Not since has another movie depicted such an inspirational character as Shawn Kelvin. You don't even have to be Irish to watch and enjoy the movie because I'm not. I'm German." He paused. "It's a little harder, on the other hand, for someone of my ethnicity to watch _The Diary of Anne Frank_."

* * *

"Really? That's what he said?" Jim took a moment to compose himself before adding, ". . . Man, I thought he was going to say _Star Wars_, but since when has Dwight ever been predictable?" He laughed a moment longer and said again incredulously, "_The Quiet Man_? I guess that beats Michael's, which is _Caddyshack_, by the way. But . . . wow. Who would have guessed Dwight was a John Wayne fan? I pictured him more of a Jackie Chan fan . . . or at least Chuck Norris."

* * *

"Today," Michael continued, "we're going to do a series of trust exercises and activities to further enhance trust in the workplace. Because whether or not you all realize this, having trust in your co-workers will make your day go easier, and it will improve your sales." 

Pam raised her hand, "What about people who aren't in sales, like me? I'm a receptionist."

Michael's smile faltered a bit, and he gave a quick look to the camera. There was a pause in which he tried to come up with an answer.

"Well, it will improve your productivity in answering phone calls—" his voice faded away here, "—and whatever else it is you do."

"What about us, Michael?" Oscar followed suit. "We're in accounting. We don't have sales either."

This time Michael's smile completely disappeared, and he opened his mouth about to say something. The camera focused on Stanley who had, by this time, fallen asleep. Then, it moved to Creed who had taken his shoe and sock off and was busy showing his four-toed foot to Kevin, to which Jim replied, since he was sitting in between them and was forced to look at it, "That's disgusting."

"It will, uh, improve . . . your self-esteem when you're figuring out numbers," Michael finally answered, flashing a smile since the camera had panned back to him.

"What about . . . Human Resources?" Toby asked, catching that this was wasting time before the dreaded exercises.

"Okay," Michael blurted, finally losing his composure. "Just . . . trust is good, alright? God, Toby." He shook his head. "Okay, let's get started. We'll be working with partners, so—"

A light buzz of conversation began; each person setting arrangements with the person they would have to work with for the rest of the day. Pam turned around and looked at Jim. He gave her a thumbs up and was about to get out of his seat to go to her when Michael finished.

"—gather 'round and pick a name out of this bag."

He pointed to the one in question and Jim sank back into his seat while everyone else, grudgingly, got up to get in line for the picking. Dwight bounded over three chairs to get to the front, and he nearly knocked Meredith over in the process.

* * *

"Do I trust Michael?" Oscar's face was deadpan, and he looked over his shoulder as if expecting to see someone listening in. "Let me ask you this," he posed, "would you trust someone who walks around the office doing reenactments from _The Three Amigos_?" He shook his head. "Probably not. You'd rather shoot him than trust him."

* * *

"Step right up, step right up and pick a name from the bag of doom," Michael said loudly, doing some sort of ringmaster impersonation. "Dwight, you're first." 

Dwight made a grab for a piece of paper, opened it, and threw it down to the ground before angrily stalking out of the room.

* * *

"Look at this," Dwight angrily demanded, holding a piece of paper in front of the camera that read "Jim Halpert". "Look at this!—How can I be expected to complete a given task on trust when I don't trust Jim any more than I trust the American government to protect me from Japanese assassins or the Chinese mafia, formally known as the Yakuza? Jim is my subordinate. He dresses distastefully, and he is unwise. How can I learn trust when I'm partnered with incompetence?"

* * *

"Michael, this is unacceptable," Dwight complained, reentering the conference room once more. "I demand a new partner!" 

Jim sighed and placed his face in his hands. Why did this _always_ happen to him?

"I'm sorry, Dwight, but you're just going to have to deal with it," Michael told him, unraveling Creed's piece of paper. "Creed, you're with Ryan."

Pam watched as the two met up with each other and walked off to their own space. Her palms began to sweat as she watched Meredith pick out a piece of paper. Oscar. She sighed. It wouldn't have been horrible to work with Meredith since Jim was out of the question. She looked back at him as he gave her the classic "Is This For Real?" face, and stifled a giggle. Poor Jim.

Phyllis. Stanley had picked Phyllis, and now there were only four people left in line. Pam sat in her original seat, chewing on her nails nervously as she watched Kevin now approach the "bag of doom" as Michael had called it. Why was she so upset about this whole thing anyway?

Kelly. Kevin had picked Kelly's name out of the bag. The two, like Ryan and Creed, had gone off to their own little space of the tiny conference room to get together for the upcoming exercises. Only Michael, Toby, Angela, and Pam were left. Seeing that her outcomes weren't exactly the greatest, Pam graduated from chewing her nails to chewing her finger tips.

"Who's the lucky winner that gets to be my partner?" Michael inquired joyfully as he plunged his hand into the bag. He smiled cheesily for the camera, moving his hand around for a fair effort at the names inside. He gave a nod towards Pam. "Hope it's your name I pull out of here." The camera panned back to a very depressed looking Pam. However, Michael ignored his hurting employee, as usual, and said in a sort of game show host way, "And the winner is . . . Toby?" he yelled. "What—why—I thought I was going to get Pam!"

Pam couldn't even be annoyed because she realized what had happened again. She had been picked last again . . .

. . . and her partner was Angela.

* * *

"Is trust important?" Angela repeated as she looked sternly into the camera. "Trust is very important. But I don't trust anyone in this office. How can you trust someone who's going to hell?"

* * *

Pam swallowed her pride and headed over to where Angela stood stoically. Things couldn't change, so she just had to make the best of them. "Hi, Angela," she called as she approached her, "ready to have some fun?" 

Angela just brushed past her, gripping a binder across her chest tightly. "These things aren't meant to be fun, Pam," she chastised, shaking her head in disapproval. "They're meant to be a learning experience."

The camera caught Pam's bewildered look before she went after her partner with low hopes. It then panned over to Michael who had drawn what appeared to be a dog, a mouse, and a snake on the shoreline of a river. In the river was a tiny rowboat.

"Quiet down, everybody," he said. The group stared at him in bored expectation, save for Dwight who had a notebook and pen ready for some heavy note taking. "So what do you see before you?" Michael asked, staring intently at his audience.

"That'd be lunch," Creed piped in.

"Come on!" Michael yelled in incredulity, throwing his hands in the air. "What is wrong with you, Creed? Maybe over in Hong Kong you ate dogs, but over here, we prefer not to eat our pets . . . unless you're Ozzy Osbourne, but even then that's stretching it." He let out a huge gust of air before continuing. "Okay, what you see before you is a team exercise. Together you and your partner are going to work out how to get each of these animals over to the other side of the lake. Yes, Dwight?"

The camera panned to an over zealous Dwight with hand raised. "Uh, question," he began, "how fast is the wind speed and in what direction are they traveling?"

Oscar rolled his eyes while his partner could be seen dozing off. Michael, on the other hand, shook his head and stated, "That doesn't matter, Dwight."

"Yes, it does," Dwight backfired. "It could determine the outcome of this scenario in seconds. If the current is faster, for instance, the dog could be taken over first providing the boatman enough time to save the mouse from its untimely death. If, however, the current is slower—"

"Just—it doesn't matter, okay, Dwight?" Michael reprimanded. He pinched the bride of his nose and motioned his hand. "Yes, Kelly?"

"What kind of dog is it?" she asked chipperly.

"_God_, what is wrong with you people? Just get with your partner and do the exercise, a-ight, homies?"

His coworkers received him with muffled conversation and the sound of scraping chairs as they set off into different places with their partners. The cameras then shut off.

88888888

"Well, why don't we take the mouse over first since it's the smallest and least protected?"

"That's what I was thinking too, Meredith, but the snake could just as easily attack the dog as it could the mouse."

"Then why don't we take the snake across first? Good to you, Oscar?"

"Yeah, let's do it."

". . . and then the other lady said, 'No, I saw this first—' which she totally hadn't '—so I'm taking it. Besides, it's not even your size.' I was horrorstricken by this time, totally horrorstricken that someone so pretty could be so mean. Since Ryan hadn't said anything I stepped up and backfired with, 'Don't judge me by the color of my skin or the bodaciousness of my body. For your information, this is my size, and I'll be taking it now!' So I went to grab it, but the other woman yanked it back. Kevin, I hadn't done my Pilates that morning, so I wasn't feeling long and lengthy, and my powerhouse was in no condition to fight with her, but I tugged my hardest. Ryan stayed out of it so he could protect me from any of the rival's goons she would sic on me, at least, that's what I think—"

"I'm going to take the mouse across the river first, then the dog, then the snake, okay?"

"Oh . . . yeah, that's fine. But you haven't even heard the saddest part yet. The top ripped—"

". . . so do you play much guitar?"

"Yes, I do. I used to be in a band called The Grassroots. We tour every once in a while, but not as much as we used to. Yep. Those were the glory days. That's how I lost my toe, you now. I'll tell ya' the story if you're interested."

"Uh, actually, Creed, tell me more about life on the road. Do you have any job openings?"

"What? On the tour bus?"

"I'm open for anything actually."

". . . So how are things at home, Stanley?"

"The wife is fine. Can't say the same thing about the daughter, though. We caught her trying to sneak out of the house last week. 'Girl, have you lost yo' mind?' I screamed the moment we found her. She explained she was going to meet some friends. I know the truth. Girls her age can't think of anything else 'sides those damn boys. But I know you, Phyllis. You were the exact same way as a youngin'."

"Heh, guilty as charged."

"How are things with you and Bob Vance?"

"They're good, actually. Tonight he's taking me out to dinner in celebration of his ten thousandth refrigerator sold. You're welcome to join us."

"I'd be honored."

". . . Well, Angela, we need to pick one, so why don't we go with the snake?"

"No."

"Fine. Then you choose."

"I refuse to participate in this activity. I am against violence towards animals."

"But this isn't violent to—"

"I said no."

" . . . Okay, Dwight, why don't we take the snake over first?" Jim asked, rubbing his temples thoroughly. "Is that satisfactory to your taste?"

Dwight shook his head fervently. "No. What kind of snake is it? Does it have poison, and if so, how lethal is it? If the snake is your average gardener snake, then fine, okay, it can be left with the mouse. But what if it's a boa constrictor? There will be—no—survivors."

Jim threw his hands into the air with defeat. Not for the first time, he wondered how he had managed to get himself stuck in this ditch known as Dunder Mifflin. He was just waiting for someone to throw him a rope to safety. "Oh my God, Dwight, it does _not_ matter. Michael—Michael! I cannot work with him."

Michael gestured with a finger. "Hold on a minute, Jim. I have to settle this with Toby."

Everyone else quieted down and paid attention to the little scene that was unfolding between Toby and Michael. The camera focused in on the two; Toby, nonchalant and Michael, more furious than anyone had ever seen him.

". . . Let's take the dog over first. It just seems the most . . . reasonable."

"And why is that, Toby? Is it because when you got divorced, your wife took the dog?"

". . . No."

"Is it true that you still sleep out in your car?"

". . . That only happened once, Michael. Could we just finish this exercise?"

"The thing is, I'd like to, Toby, but you're not even a part of the Dunder Mifflin family. And how can I trust someone who isn't a part of the family? Rule number one: don't talk to strangers."

Toby nodded and said softly, "Well, that's . . . a lot coming from someone who never even started a family. You don't even have a wife, do you?"

The room became silent. No one dared to look at anyone else for fear they might miss the situation unraveling before them. Even Kelly, for once, didn't say anything. NO one could believe what they were hearing. Was Toby taking a stand? The camera panned from Michael with his mouth agape, no comeback ready, to Toby who was grinning smugly and for once had a look of superiority about him.

"Get out," Michael finally said. It was said so quietly no one could be certain what he had uttered.

"What was that?" Toby asked looking for reasons beyond belief like he was a kid with the keys to the candy store.

"I said GET OUT!" Michael repeated, this time shouting and rising from his seat.

Without another word, Toby graciously obeyed. He grabbed his coat and headed towards the elevator. Silence once again took over since everyone was pretty much too stunned to do anything.

"Take five, everybody," Michael muttered before slamming the door to his office shut.

* * *

"For someone who doesn't talk much, Toby is pretty much a genius," Ryan admitted to the camera crew. "Toby is pretty much the only one at this place that I don't mind. Maybe it's because we both spend every day that we work here dreaming about being someplace else." He paused. "I wish I would have thought of telling Michael off. Maybe he wouldn't stare at me so disturbingly."

* * *

After six minutes, Michael finally emerged from his office with his arm in a sling made of paper towels, presumably from the men's bathroom. The camera panned over to Jim who glanced at it with a "You've Got to Be Kidding Me" look. Michael stood at the front and spoke. 

"Let that be an example to the employees of Dunder Mifflin of what happens when there's no trust in the workplace." He took a moment to squint his eyes in an emotional stupor as they misted over. "Don't let my mistakes become yours as well."

"But that had nothing to do with—" Meredith began.

"Yeah—it's a little hard to talk about what with the trauma I'm experiencing." He then motioned to his arm in the fake sling. "Since my partner is no longer here, Jim, you'll be my partner."

The camera swerved to catch Jim's reaction; only, it wasn't one that would have been expected. He had a plan formulating.

"Uh, wow, I would love to," Jim explained, "but I can't."

Michael looked kind of hurt, but then he asked, "Why?"

Jim sighed. "It's just that if I would be your partner, I'd start getting cocky, and I'd have a false sense of superiority over my fellow coworkers. Start expecting pay raises . . . but you know who'd be perfect for the job? Dwight."

"Who? . . . Oh God."

"Yes, Michael, I will be your partner," Dwight cried, bounding from his chair and tripping to the front of the room.

"Okay, fine," Michael agreed, "but now you have to find a new partner, Jim."

"Hmm," Jim pondered jokingly. Even though he wanted to elongate the moment and make sport of it, the first person his eyes locked on to was Pam. He smiled a small smile until she looked back at him. He quickly looked away, feeling heat rush into his face. "Well, I'll work with Pam and Angela if that's all right."

Michael's eyes brightened and he said, "Oh-ho-ho, J-Unit's thinkin' smart. Two ladies at once!"

Pam bit her lip and looked about as embarrassed as Jim felt. "Um, actually it'll only be me since Angela refuse to continue with these exercises because she says they're against her religious beliefs."

"Well," Michael stuttered, unsure whether to confront Angela or just leave her alone. Since the camera was still rolling, he decided on the former, "all right, let's begin the next exercise."

88888888888

"Okay, we're in the process of Trust Exercise Two, and in it, Michael is _making_ us build forts with our partners," Pam explained quietly from inside what appeared to be Jim and her fort. "How building a fort without being able to use tape or glue enforces and shows us trust, I have no idea. But what I _do_ know is that our fort is kicking everybody else's fort's _asses_!"

Jim gave the camera a quick glance or surprise and beamed widely at his partner. "Take it easy, Beesly," he said joyfully. "Geez, give the girl some chewing gum and a little competition and she becomes a _tyrant_."

Pam giggled, but attempted to stifle it and finally succeeded when the cameraman asked another question.

"Oh, yeah, well, let me explain. The only resources we were given were old newspapers and tiny pieces of cardboard for reinforcement," she narrated energetically. "Due to small supply, we could only build our forts really small. Poor Kevin is all I can say because even here, I'm nearly sitting in Jim's lap. Sorry by the way."

"No problem." Only the camera caught the grin he failed in hiding.

"Anyway," Pam continued, "Jim here, who I'm told is a master in fort building, even now as an adult, had the brilliant idea of using chewing gum as adhesive, so that's why we're both chewing now. It's Wrigley's green apple which is really, really good.—"

"You're welcome to have a piece," Jim offered the camera guy from the pack he procured from his back pocket. The camera guy accepted.

"See? I know! Anyway, as you can see, the roof was provided by Jim's jacket, since my sweater was too fragile. Now we're ready for anything. Oh, and one more thing," she called softly, "we're talking in 'six inch voices' because we don't want the other groups hearing our secret plans."

The two partners grinned at each other. Jim pointed a finger at Pam and said in closing to the camera, "See? This is what happens when you spend too much time with Dwight."

* * *

The camera focused in on the conference room. The scene it captured was either very funny or very sad. About seven box-like structures were scattered across the room, some finished, some not, with two fully grown adults in each. Among the unfinished were Dwight and Michael who couldn't seem to agree on structure. Michael's continuous condemnations of Dwight could be overheard, as well as Dwight's rebuttals which mainly consisted of, "Oh, yeah? Well, what if the enemy comes at us with red hot oil or worse, vials of smallpox? If our roof is not reinforced, we will die!" 

Kelly decided instead of building a fort big enough to surround Kevin, she would just use him as one side of the fort. Oscar and Meredith were using the time for some R&R, while groups like Stanley and Phyllis and Creed and Ryan abandoned Trust Exercise Two a long time ago and could now be seen in the break room laughing at some humorous anecdote Phyllis just told.

The camera focused in on Jim and Pam again, as the two were utilizing the time to just talk.

"Do you have any rubber bands?" Pam asked as she peeked through the tiny hole that made visible Dwight and Michael's fort.

Jim scrunched his facial features in confusion and asked, "Rubber bands? Yeah, I have a couple, but why do you need them?"

"Because I want to fire these paper clips at Dwight and Michael's fort," she said.

"Whoa, Pam," Jim remarked in amusement. Without thinking, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her so she was no longer looking through the hole, but at Jim instead. Had Pam been a normal girl, she would have noticed how close they both were in the confined space. However, Pam wasn't normal. "Could you please explain why the sudden surges of tyranny?" Jim asked.

The camera focused on Pam who was giving him a sarcastic look. "Look at us, Jim. We're two grown adults in a fort." She smiled. "If that's not sad, I don't know what is. Plus, you know, I think I was inspired by Toby this afternoon. I feel so badly for him."

"Well, then let's go," Jim said, getting up from the floor. "Let's go visit Toby."

Without even thinking, Pam grabbed his arm. At first Jim looked shocked, but then he grinned. "We can't just . . . _leave_ work. Besides, I don't even know where Toby lives, and we'd have to break into Michael's office to get his information."

Jim smirked. "Well? What are you waiting for? Hop to it, Beesly." He paused and then smiled widely. "Unless, you're too chicken . . ."

Pam gave the camera a pleading look, glanced both ways, and then as quietly as possible, she got up and followed after Jim.

"Oh, no, Halpert," Pam said when she finally caught up, "we are on."

Jim smiled again. He seemed to be doing it a lot today. "I'll grab your coat."

* * *

"As a little morale booster, I let the troops go home a little early today," Michael said to the camera. 

"That's just because no one was participating in your trust seminar," Dwight corrected.

"No, Dwight, th-that's not right. It was a Friday, and I'm a cool boss. It's why people love me. Will it prevent downsizing? Yee—No, no, it probably won't, but when it comes to family, why would you want to ruin their outlook? The prospect of downsizing does way more damage to productivity then lack of trust. I just—BLECH—I don't like dishin' out the bad news, man. Who does besides Nazis—?"

"—hey!—"

"—and Jan?" Michael finished. "I'm all about the morale. People ask me if I would ever quit this job if I were offered a better paying one, or one in better locale. The answer is no. They say, 'Well, that can't be entirely true because we know we'd take that better job.' The answer is still no. These people are like my children, and I can't quit them. For a lot of people here, I am the only one they can confide in, and the only reason that is, is because I am a very trustworthy person. As the father of this family, I need to nurture the children, and help them grow. I'm like a father and that fun uncle rolled into one. They—love me."

* * *

Acar pulled into a small, paved drive in front of a run down, small as well, ranch house. The camera zoomed in as Pam and Jim exited the car. 

"We'll have to make this quick because once we're inside," Pam warned. "It's probably wise if you guys don't follow. Toby's probably traumatized. But in return, we'll show you what we got for him. Jim? If you'll do the honors."

The camera moved over to Jim who was digging through a Target bag. "Okay, first, we got our friend Toby a Hershey's chocolate bar because as Pam informed me, people enjoy chocolate when they're emotional. Second, we bought him a sandwich from his favorite deli because he missed lunch, so he owes us," Jim explained as Pam rang the doorbell.

After only a few seconds, Toby answered the door, wearing an expression of deep surprise.

"W-What are you guys doing here?" he asked slowly.

"We felt really badly about . . . what happened," Pam explained. "We brought gifts." Jim held the bag up. "Do you think we could come in?"

Toby invited them in and the door shut.

888888888

Jim had never believed in love his entire life. It started in elementary school when he thought girls were icky and they had cooties. It escalated in high school when his prom date left him to go make-out with Simon Becker. And it finally reached its peak when his girlfriend of six months in freshmen year of college left him.

However, sitting next to the warm, bubbly, woman beside him in his coworker's house; one he never pictured himself ever seeing in different circumstances, he was sort of convinced that she proved his thinking wrong entirely.


End file.
